Love, The Oblivion
by the crooked typewriter
Summary: Luke Skywalker might never be the same after the Emperor's lightning coursed through his body that fateful night. All he knew was the smell of flowers wasn't a gift anymore. It was a curse.
1. Chapter 1

For Morgan.

 **Love, The Oblivion**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

Breathing heavily, Luke Skywalker—Jedi Knight, son of Lord Vader—hid in the darkness. He could feel Vader stalking the low-ceilinged area all around him, and he fought against plugging his ears to block out the cackle of the Emperor above him. Vader was looking for Luke, and while it was dark, there was no doubt he would find him. Already, Luke could see the dim glow of red surrounding the area.

"You cannot hide forever, Luke," Vader taunted, giving his lightsaber a wag.

"I will not fight you." Breathless. _Why did he sound so scared?_

"Give yourself to the Dark Side. It is the only way you can save your friends." Vader's voice was smug, and Luke felt his fear sink deeper. "Yes, your thoughts betray you. Your feelings for them are strong. Especially for..." Vader stopped. Luke cringed, squeezing his eyes tight in anguish; he could almost _feel_ Vader probing his brain. **_"_** _Sister!_ So...you have a twin sister. Your feelings have now betrayed her, too. Obi-Wan was wise to hide her from me; now his failure is complete. If you will not turn to the Dark Side, then perhaps she will."

Through his mind flashed Leia, hands outstretched to choke off his air supply, eyes dark and dangerous. Anger simmered against his will, harbored right against his heart. In a burst of green light, Luke ignited his lightsaber.

"Never!" he screamed, lunging toward his father's shadow with anger he was both encouraging and ashamed of. Gold sparks flew around them as Vader's even breathing picked up him.

It only fueled Luke's attack.

Following Vader's retreat, Luke barely noticed the change of pace and place. Pushing out of the low area and across a bridge overlooking a vast elevator shaft, Luke's saber drove Vader backwards, backwards, until Luke watched him fall to his knees, reach out for another stroke, and receive an unforgiving blow to his right wrist. A black-gloved hand fell to the ground. Sliced off mercilessly.

Luke blinked.

 _That was his own doing._

The mechanics fizzed and spluttered as Vader's sword clattered into the abyss. As if he was possessed, Luke impulsively moved his blade to Vader's throat.

 _One jab. One good jab and this hated monster's reign is ended._

 _An age of peace ushered in by Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight._

"Good!" The Emperor was restless; smile nearly splitting his face in two. "Your hate has made you _powerful_. Now, fulfill your destiny and take your father's place at my side!"

All Luke could do was study his father's severed hand.

How similar it was to his own, now that he thought about it. Mechanical, if the loose wires were any indication, and covered with a black leather glove.

 _How had his father fallen?_

 _Was it just like this? Staring his ego, his potential, his desires in the face and hating them and wanting them so desperately at the same time that it physically hurt? Was it a brainless question? Or had he slowly descended the stairwell into the darkness, always looking back to the top of the stairs to make sure the decision was the right one?_

Vader didn't move. His stare was even and accepting.

 _He couldn't._

Luke stepped back and hurled his lightsaber away.

 **"** Never," Luke panted. _For Leia, for Han, for Ben._ "I'll _never_ turn to the dark side. You've failed, Your Highness." _For the Rebels, for the dead, for the living._ "I am a Jedi, like my father before me."

Luke saw the exact moment the Emperor's glee turned to rage.

 **"** So be it... _Jedi."_ The Emperor spat the word out, as if the word itself was rotten to the core. He stood in silence, walking slowly down the steps. A surge of courage filled Luke's vein, enveloping his heart.

 _For a future full of hope, not fear._

He couldn't move. Every nerve in him was anchored down to where he stood, surrounded by canisters and supplies.

As the Emperor reached the bottom of the stairs, he raised a foreboding arm, lazily pointing at Luke. "If you will not be turned, you will be destroyed," the Emperor hissed, hands poised to strangle.

Suddenly, Luke realized how unimportant he was in the Emperor's eyes. Bend to his will, or choose to die. There was no bargain—Luke was fooling himself if he thought he'd make it out alive. Almost unconsciously, he sucked in a deep breath.

 _Goodbye Leia, Han, Chewie, R2 and C3P0._

But the throttle never came.

Instead, blinding, searing bolts of energy shot out from the Emperor's fingers crackling their way through the space between him and Luke.

 _Lightning._

In an effort to stop the searing pain, he reached out with the Force to protect himself, hoping to deflect or reroute the powerful bolts.

The second round is deflected.

Luke's heart soars. _I did it!_ he cheers. _Master Yoda, Ben, I did it!_

Then his strength gave out.

The bolts came at such a speed, such a power that Luke's knees were taken out from under him and he crashed to the ground in a heap of boiling defeat.

 _He was a young Jedi again, shrinking before a power he didn't know existed._

His knees buckle, and then he was lying on the ground, defenseless and writhing in agony.

"Young fool..." the Emperor emphasized his words with a flick of his wrist, the rising temperature shattering Luke's every thought. "Only now, at the end, do you understand."

Luke cried: tears streaming down his face as the lightning coursed through him. His heart pulsed at an ugly, ratchet rhythm. Underneath the constant attacks, Luke felt his consciousness seeping out of him, and in a feeble attempt to stem off what was left of his life he hugged a canister to his chest.

The bottomless oblivion loomed beneath Luke like a promise.

 **"** Your feeble skills are no match for the power of the Dark Side. You have paid the price for your lack of vision." The Emperor's taunts fell on deaf ears; Luke couldn't hear anything over the uneven beating of his every vein.

The pain was reaching unbearable levels, but with the last of his strength Luke reached toward his father. _"Augh,_ father, _please. Errgh,_ help me! _Agh!"_

Vader stood, eyes never wavering from Luke's lightning-incased body.

 **"** Now, young Skywalker," the Emperor said. "...You will _die."_

The outpouring of bolts from the Emperor's hands doubled in intensity. Luke's screams echoed throughout the throne room, feral and raw, ripped from his throat in haste to escape. His body contorted, soaking up the bolts with abandon, life force fleeing his body. Behind his eyelids bled reds and hot whites.

But as if Luke had crossed an unknown threshold, the lightning's heat pulled away, the searing turned to boiling. Luke's death grip on the canister lessened slightly. Through blurry, fluttering eyelids he managed to steal a glimpse of his surroundings.

Vader had the Emperor from behind, wrestling him into submission despite his weakened arm. The Emperor spluttered and cursed, the blue lightning lifting away from Luke but never faltering in the least. Bolts eat at Vader's black cloak and helmet, flickering glimpses of the man inside.

Luke couldn't breathe. His father's heartbeat held the same tempo as his own.

Vader stumbled toward the abyss, his Master held high over his head.

The next thing that Luke saw between blinks was the Emperor's body, tumbling down helplessly into the void, the lightning getting sucked down with him. An explosion that blew his sweaty hair off his forehead tossed him off of his canister and farther into the throne room.

Vader saved him.

 _His father_ saved him.

Luke watches in disbelief as his father staggered before collapsing, too close to the edge of the hole. One breath, and he could be tossed into the oblivion.

Luke held up his two trembling hands. Could he lift his father away from that ledge? He could barely swallow to quench his dry throat, let alone walk to him from across the room. Panting hard, Luke managed to prop himself up on all fours, shakily crawling hand over hand to his father's side, folding into a heap of weakness only two or three times.

His father's mask was wheezing.

He didn't have much time.

"I'm coming, father," Luke croaked, ignoring his aching body and fried brain. "Don't move, you'll…you'll fall." His heart warned him to stay still, pattering away at breakneck speed. "I can save you, just…just don't move."

Vader keened a mellow note. "Luke, my son, you have already saved me."

No. _No, no, no._ Vader couldn't give up now. _His father_ couldn't give up now. Luke was almost there, though he could sense through the Force something was off.

"I-I just…I just…" Luke tried to explain what he felt, that he knew his father's thoughts. At the same time, he wanted to reassure him. Tell him that all he ever wanted was to know his father, and that he never lost faith that he would come back to him someday. Luke had found that day; it couldn't be too late.

"Luke, you're going to leave me for a little while. Don't be scared," Vader sounded fatherly, and when Luke finally reached where his father lay, Vader gathered him up in his arms. "I will always be with you. The Force will keep you strong."

 _"Wha?"_ Luke slurred, feeling as if the world was slipping away behind a gooey curtain. _"I'm not leaving you."_ Vader guided Luke's hands to his helmet, and with a hiss it clicked free. Luke tried to pull away. "You— _don' take it off. You'll die."_

"I want my last moments with you to be with Anakin Skywalker, your father. Not Vader."

And with one final hiss, the helmet was on the ground, and Luke saw his father's face.

"Don't be afraid, my son."

Then the room spun sideways, and Luke collapsed onto the cold black marble. His eyes slid shut as a glorious smell filled his nostrils, like a field of lilies had rushed to greet him.

All was dark. Luke had never felt so alone.

Then, colors.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Luke couldn't feel anything.

Surroundings floated around him in globs of pale light and grainy color. There were no words, no sounds, just the mirage of life behind his eyelids.

His mind acted like a desperate pair of hands, groping for something, _anything_ to hold onto that would remind him of reality. Thoughts shifted through the sands of unconsciousness until one floated to the surface.

 _Open your eyes, Luke._

Blue, pure eyes opened.

He saw but did not understand.

 _What were those objects?_

 _Chair. Floor. Hands._

More words flooded back to his grasping brain.

 _Han. Leia. Chewbacca. Lights._

He wanted to reach out, for even though his brain was sluggish he could sense the worry written on his friend's faces. In unison the three held grim frowns, squinted eyes.

 _What was wrong?_

His legs were the next movement he gained use of. He managed to steadily bend and point his aching toes. _Where was the ache from?_

His hearing slowly returned next. Surprised, Luke found soft voices surrounding him.

"Luke, talk to us."

"What's going on, Kid? Are you okay?"

"I'm calling the medics on ground. We don't know what's wrong."

 _"Arrrhggh!"_

They overwhelmed him. Sinking lower, Luke curled up his legs and scrunched up his face, working to block out the noises he had thought he wanted to hear. Now, he wanted everyone to go away.

The oblivion was so much nicer.

It was warm, and he remembered that wonderful smell—like the best vase on his Aunt's table, or Leia's perfume. It had smelled so much nicer than wherever he was now, where it smelled like…

Piss.

Luke gained the use of his arms just in time to prop himself up and groan. The sudden movement made the three sets of worried hands grab onto him and push him back down. Back on the floor, Luke realized it was also more comfortable in the strange place of moving colors. Luke let out a disappointed whimper.

He had wet himself. As if he was three years old again.

His cheeks turned red with embarrassment.

 _"Shh,_ Luke. It's okay. Everything is going to be fine. We have a medical droid charging. Just stay put, and try not to move," Leia cooed. She held his pink cheeks with such gentleness; somehow, that made Luke more disappointed.

"Leave me alone." Luke tried to sound angry, but it simply turned out sounding pained and desperate. He wanted privacy, he wanted a change of clothes, or even just to move out of the wet, ammonia-smelling puddle would be enough for now. His friends only stood there, wide-eyed and loudly protective.

They wouldn't let him move.

Luke got frustrated fast.

 _"Go away!"_ Luke cried, fisting his hands. "I just want to be alone!"

Han grabbed his shoulders, pinning him to the floor. "Listen here Kid, we're trying to help—"

Leia scolded him. "Be gentle, Han!"

"He's just going to hurt himself more if he gets up!" Han shot back, his sweaty palms still pressing him down. "Look, Luke, we're not going anywhere. Something is seriously wrong—"

"Han, he doesn't need to know. Not yet," Leia cut him off again.

A clicking noise came from behind him. More words started to fill his once empty brain.

 _Endor. Jedi. The Force. Vader._

 _Vader's death. Anakin. His dad._

Everything started to snap slowly into place.

"How did I get here?" The last thing Luke could remember was his father's face, and his words.

 _"Don't be afraid, my son."_

Unknowingly, Luke untensed, eyes sliding closed in a surreal state of calm. His father's face appeared in his memory, all pale and broken and scabbed beyond recognition: the most comforting face he had ever seen.

Han lessened his grip, taking a step back. "There, Kid. That's more like it."

 _More like what?_ Luke thought. _More like myself? Or more like what they want me to behave like?_ It was a difficult question: he had never felt so distant from the Luke Skywalker he knew he was supposed to be.

A burst of cold stung the side of Luke's neck, and he jerked out of Han's hands. A distinct numbness followed.

No. _No, no no._ He didn't have time to be drugged—to be mushy-minded, drifting out of one conversation only to find he had drifted through a day, two days. He didn't want what was left of his energy to be drained, his Force signature dim and simmering beneath the drug's effects.

"Stim or sedative?" Luke asked hoarsely. _He had to know._

"It's going to be all right, Luke. We're almost there." Leia's words.

"Was it a _stim_ or a _sedative?"_ he demanded. "I need to know." When he opened his eyes again, it was Leia who held a hypospray in her hand. It was trembling slightly, though she hid her worry behind the tight purse of her lips.

"Pain blocker. It's to help with…with what hurts."

Luke swallowed hard. Reaching inward, he tried to catalogue where the bright burn of agony stemmed from, finding he couldn't. Ben would have been able to pinpoint it, speaking the slightly cryptic language he tended to use whenever he told him about the "Jedi way." He'd tell him to sort through his emotions, search for his pain and let it swim to the top of his consciousness.

 _Or,_ Luke thought as he craned his neck to look down at his emaciated body. _Or I look for myself._

Han was at his forehead is seconds. "Hey, hey hotshot. We don't have a tyrant to kill or a battle station to destroy right now. Just rest. We're almost to Endor, Kid."

"I'm cold," Luke only half-lied. "I-Is there a blanket?"

His anger was already wearing thin, leaving only bone-weary tiredness in its wake. He _was_ cold—cold and wet—and miserably achy and filled to the brim with lead. The world went from red to a dismal gray in a shockingly short amount of time.

Luke watched Han hesitate, then nod once. "Okay. Yeah, okay Luke."

He walked out of Luke's line of sight.

Leia sat down on his left, her soft hand slipping into Luke's. She didn't have to ask for permission; she already knew that he wanted her to hold him tight. He didn't truly want to see what was wrong, and yet that pull of curiosity was lit underneath him. He would have to sooner or later, and he wanted Leia to be there when he did.

Luke lifted his head again.

His chest was bare with gauze and thin tan bandages as his only covering, though the ship's first aid seemed to have run out before they finished. As his eyes flicked over his ribs and abdomen, down to his naked legs he found harsh scratches and burns pocking his figure. His knees were black and blue, scrubbed clean from debris that left their indents in his skin. Lifting a heavy hand he found his arms to be in the same condition. Working to turn his head, Luke saw across his left bicep laid a single bacta patch, though it didn't nearly protect the length of the wound. Wincing, he realized it must snake up the entirety of his neck.

Leia caught him. "Why don't you listen?" she scolded softly, rubbing circles on his palm. Even that seemed unusually abrasive. "I wish I could explain."

"Me too," Luke croaked.

There was a beat. "Do you feel any pain?" Leia asked. Luke shook his head carefully, as to not upset his carefully healing wound. "Good."

"Is-is there anything for the smell?" Luke blushed as he said it, sure that Han would be laughing from wherever he was. Against his intuition, there was silence.

"Oh, Luke…"

Luke decided to block out the rest of Leia's sentence. It was sure to be an apology mixed with pity and medical jargons he wouldn't understand in his best condition. Excuses to why he was soaked in his own piss.

He didn't want any reasons. He wanted answers.

What had happened between the throne room and here, as he lay on the floor in the cramped medbay of a ship? His father's warning hadn't done him much good, seeing as he couldn't stop shaking with fright. Luke Skywalker—son of Lord Vader, Jedi Knight—laid in his own mess and did not even have the strength get up. He was not strong, not heroic, and definitely not willing to admit that he was alight with pain from every limb, no matter the pain blocker injected.

"Luke?" Leia asked, grappling for Luke's spacey attention. "Chewie's lifting you up for a few seconds while I clean you up. It's nothing to be ashamed of. You were…we found you…this can wait until you're feeling better."

Luke wanted to argue back. Instead, as the Wookie picked him up he buried his face in the soft fur neck and cried. He cried for his father, for Luke not being strong enough to fulfill his father's last words. He cried for the absolute ache he had deep in his bones, and for his friend's careful dance around his fragile form. He cried for Ben, because Ben would have been so disappointed of his lack of strength.

But Chewie didn't know why he cried. He only held the boy tighter to his chest—a fact that Luke would always be grateful for.

He was aware of a warm cloth sweeping over his legs and back, but lacked the energy to find out who it was. After that, a thin blanket was wrapped around his trembling shoulders, ending with a soft squeeze to his bicep. Luke resisted the urge to yelp at the tremor it sent up his arm.

He was placed onto a soft-pillowed cot. A medical droid stood over him, emotionless face scanning his nearly naked body. Instinctively, Luke tried to pull the blanket tighter around him. His arms scratched against what felt like restraints, and he shivered.

After what felt like an eternity, the droid straightened and walked away. Luke didn't bother following where he went. He knew what he would do: compute his data before printing it out on a long thin strip. He would prep whatever drug he saw fit in his syringes before returning to the small group gathered. Then he'd drone out his results.

The droid's yellow eyes reappeared. "Luke Skywalker, male, twenty-three years of age. In considerable disrepair to unknown computed cause," the medical droid recited. Luke could have sworn at the last sentence he glared at Han. "Is there any other data you wish to input, so that I may have a greater success in diagnosing the patient?"

Han snarled. "I don't trust you more than a Hutt."

The droid bristled. "Very well. According to my data collected and available to me, it seems as though Luke Skywalker, male, twenty three years of age is in the postictal stage of a seizure."

"Seizure?" Leia breathed, carefully gauging her reaction. "There has to be a cause of a seizure."

"Not necessarily, ma'am. Though it seems with patient Skywalker, the seizure was caused by massive electrical input in an unprepared state."

"That emperor piece of sh—"

 _"Han!"_

"—did _what_ to Luke?"

The medical droid repeated his sentences like a mantra. "Patient Skywalker's seizure was caused by massive electrical input in an unprepared state. Lightning being the most likely suspect."

Han snorted. "The most likely suspect? I'll tell you who the most likely suspect is—that _son of a blaster_ Vader is who it was."

"We should have never let him go alone," Leia cried, talking over Luke as if he wasn't present. "We should have forced him to take one of us with him."

"And what? Been shot up with lightning too?"

"At least we would have been there! We could have done something!"

"We'd both have been dead in seconds, you know that Princess. Luke's a Jedi who's got—"

"Enough!" Luke rasped over the heated argument. "You don't even know what happened!"

Leia squeezed her hand back into his. "I'm sorry Luke. We were being too loud."

 _"Nhh,"_ Luke tried to plead his case but finding his voice had been reduced to scratchy nothingness. When he opened his mouth again not a sound came out.

The droid droned on. "My suggested course of action is to have an official electroencephalogram performed as soon as possible. That will help your future medical staff pinpoint the next steps in patient Skywalker's diagnosis. Until the test, may I suggest a few different medications?"

Leia and Han both wandered after the droid to sign and date the data it collected, initialing the permission form in Luke's place for the use of whatever drugs the droid wanted him to have. Luke's stomach plummeted.

It wasn't Vader's fault.

As if it was glued behind his eyelids, Luke saw the Emperor's hands contort as the white hot lightning came spilling forth, igniting Luke's insides and melting away every thought but pain. Pain that was yet to go away.

Pain that was being pinned on his father.

As one last attempt at restoring the true story, Luke managed: _"Vfff, hnn."_

 _Vader's innocent._

While it's only success was drawing his three friends back to his sickbed, Luke felt better. The words weren't true in ever sense, but they felt right to say. Vader had proved in his last minutes his change of heart. He had shown Luke how to be brave and stand up against a world of hurt, a world of regret and force it to obey the present and future. His father was a hero.

Luke was just the weak remnant of a greater past.

Before the syringe ever entered his body Luke was already in the clutches of sleep. It wasn't peaceful—not the oblivion he had felt—but natural. The ache that plagued him made his eyelids heavy, and his body sagged into the cot.

Three pinches.

Three different drugs in his system, plus the pain blocker.

Luke wanted to scream, to cry, to get angry and throw whatever object was closest to him. His emotions coasted fast from one to another, but in the end, it only left exhaustion. He was only Luke Skywalker, the boy from Tatooine who lost so many family members and friends in the last four years of his life.

As his usual paranoia of falling asleep melted away behind a fog of medication, Luke found himself squeezing Leia's hand once again.

Three squeezes _. I love you._

She returned the words with a single kiss on his pounding forehead.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The next time Luke woke from his drug-induced haze, Chewie stood over him, one of his hands slowly sweeping Luke's sandy blonde hair out of his face only to replace it with his own snarly locks.

 _"Arr, auugh eerr,"_ Chewie murmured. Luke worked his jaws, trying for a smile on his numb face.

"Hi, Chew," he managed. The Wookiee shook his mane, smiling away with his sharp incisors. Luke blinked slowly, taking in his surroundings. The space he laid in was roomy and blessedly dark—Luke's eyes already ached from the strain medical screens put on his vision. There was a door on the far side of the room, glass and the main source of light. On one side of his bed sat Chewbacca, on the other side stood various medical contraptions: one that held his jagged, cliff-like heartbeat spindling from a long chord that attached to his chest, another strange red light blinking from his left middle finger in a tube-like bandage, another still dripping unknown substances into an IV port in his forearm.

All was quiet, save for the hum of machinery and the Wookiee's mumblings. Most unnerving was the fact that Han and Leia were nowhere in sight.

 _Where were they?_ Luke's eyes swept over the room once more.

No Leia. No Han.

"Whhr—?"Luke's cheeks flushed, as the only sound from his question resembled the guttural Wookiee language. Chewie patted his shoulder gently, though it still caused Luke to flinch. He ran his tongue over his parched lips, begging his voice to return. His throat was fiery and sharp when he swallowed, and uncomfortably scratchy in the seconds in between. _It's worth another try,_ Luke thought, mustering up a spark of hope.

"I—" His voice gave out again. Chewbacca leaned in, thinking to catch his whispers, but Luke couldn't find the energy. Unwilling and unable to try speech one more time, the two friends sat in silence, Chewie frustratingly quiet, and Luke even more so.

Every shift of the bed felt like an engine's roar, each beeping monitor a horn in his ears. His senses felt assaulted by every small thing. _Am I hungover?_ Luke asked himself pathetically, not knowing his own answer. He thought of the time he and Biggs had drank themselves into a stupor, their night completely forgotten but the morning… _oh sith_ , just remembering that next morning made his stomach roil.

Biggs and him had taken turns lurching over a bucket, their dehydrated, nauseated state only exemplified by their skull-crushing headaches. When Biggs had nothing left in him but his innards, he turned and slapped Luke on the back—Luke ended up not pulled his head out of the bucket for two days—and had made him promise to never get drunk ever again.

And Luke had kept that promise.

At least as far as he could remember, though right then he recognized each symptom: he could feel his barely contained nausea rising and drawing back in his throat, his high sensitivity to every bright glow or loud noise, the headache that settled right behind his eyes, at the back of his head, and squeezing the space in between.

And the dreams…

He had seen two figures fighting, golden sparks flying in every direction. Beautiful colors swam over their heads before they shattered, turning to millions of razor-sharp arrowheads that when they hit the ground, sizzled with heat.

 _Drugged up nonsense if I've every heard it,_ Luke admonished himself, hearing Biggs' voice. _You ought'ta be ashamed of yourself._

The only link missing was the fact that he _still felt_ high. His limbs were uncoordinated and his body numb. He let his flesh fingers twitch, one by one, all five and then all five mechanical fingers too. They were slow to respond, his middle finger weighed heavily down by the oximeter. He felt disconnected, muted.

There was no Force in his bones right then.

There was only lead—cold, heavy, molten lead.

To Luke's great chagrin, the wide, plexiglas double doors on the far side of the room opened a crack, a dark figure standing against the pane. Luke jerked, his mind jumping from his dreams to reality.

Seeing Luke was awake, the man threw open both doors and gleefully shouted: "Why, if it isn't the galaxy's favorite hotshot! Welcome back to he land of the living, kid!"

 _Lando Calrissian._

He stood in all his glory with a halo of the outside world's menacing light around his head, flowers tucked under his armpit. Luke blinked and blinked, eyes burning with tears from the sudden increase of light. His head split from roaring headache, pounding and pounding until sloppily, he tried to cover his ears to stop the madness within his skull.

Lando crossed the room to bend over Luke's abused body and huffed, giving his best portrayal of deep in thought. "You are looking _rough,_ my man." As if that was all his deep thinking had produced. Luke moaned softly, covering his face and making Lando drop his usual smug expression.

"Aw, Luke, it all gonna turn out all right. You'll see. Here—Chewie—let me drag up a chair and sit for a bit. I can't stand it when my friends cry." Lando shot out comforting phrases like blaster fire, Luke watching the man inquiringly through watery gaze. Lando dragged over a cheap, plastic chair and sat down, elbows on his knees, fancy cape trailing over the flower bouquet and much of his hunched form. "I almost forgot—these are for you." He produced a crumpled card from the bouquet and set it on the table just out of Luke's reach. Then, he placed the flowers over Luke's legs. Luke looked on helplessly, fingers itching to touch the lovely petals of yellows and oranges. He could almost see their fragrance drift up and into the light.

 _That smell._

 _Oh, Force, that smell._

He tried to distract himself by watching Lando smile away at him with his winning smile, eyes trailing all over Luke's body. He watched him catalogued his swollen eye sockets, grazed chin, and mauled forehead; he followed his eyes down his blackened neck, shoulders, arms. Luke saw Lando bounce from horrified to at ease as he alternated from seeing yet another casted piece of his young friend to the unsteady heart monitor beeping away in the background.

"No need to be nervous, hotshot! It's just your old pal…Lando," Lando added as an afterthought, as if he second-guessed Luke's ability to see. "Talk to me, Luke."

Lando grabbed the remote at his bedside and slowly let Luke sit up, bed squawking as Luke contorted automatically from laying to semi-reclining, the pillows underneath his head acting as a wedge to keep him upright. Luke tried at a smile, only earning him a warm hand laced through his fingers. He hadn't asked for it. It just appeared.

 _"Arrar, arrrh,"_ Chewie barked, and Lando threw up his hands.

"Sorry, big guy, I didn't know. Hey, you just take your time, kid, no need to rush into things. You talk to us when you're ready."

Luke couldn't figure out how to squeeze Lando's hand back, so he stared at it with all his might, hoping it to be a thank you in its own right.

They were being so kind, even though he couldn't be the Luke his friends wanted him to be—the hotshot, the old pal, the kid, the conversationalist, the optimist. He could just be present; that was all he had the energy, or more like the _ability_ , to be.

 _And he couldn't stand the smell of the flowers._

The bouquet sat across his pristine cream sheets, dribbling color into Luke's otherwise sterile-white world _. You love flowers,_ Luke tried at convincing himself through the onslaught of potent smells. _You'd always comment on…_

 _Leia's perfume, his Aunt's best vase, a field of wild lilies…_

 _The night of his fight with the Emperor._

 _"Don't be afraid, my son," his father had wheezed. His last words._

He gagged, liquid rising into his mouth at a surprising speed, and gagged again. All watched in slow-motioned horror as the mess splattered over his chin, neck, chest, lap. Lando was up in seconds, grabbing a waiting basin and thrusting it onto Luke's lap before another round ensued.

Luke kept his face down, his arms feeling too weak to hold the bucket in place.

 _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,_ Luke thought as he half-missed the basin in his third round, the acid cascading down his once clean tunic. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lando wince.

Chewie's arms were around him then, hot and soft against the cold sweat on the back of his neck, the other arm pressing the bucket closer to his face.

 _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry._

Luke wasn't sure how long he sat there like that, held together by Chewie's strength. There were long stretches of time where he heaved, sobbing soundlessly for his screaming throat. His exhaustion was so overwhelming during the bouts that his head lolled the second he felt a moment of reprieve. There would be a stretch of peace.

Then through the acid and sweat, he would smell the flowers.

 _"Don't be afraid, my son."_

Weakly, as he folded over the basin once again, Luke kicked out clumsily at the bouquet, trying to dethrone the menaces from their rule over his gag reflex. Shifting and shifting his knees, the petals rained over his already ruined sheets and down off the bed, followed _finally_ by the bouquet.

It hit the tile floor without a sound.

Full, hot tears were overflowing Luke's eyes now, mad at himself for ruining Lando's gift and madder that he couldn't handle the smell; for the fact that Leia and Han weren't there, and for the fact that he couldn't even _ask_ for them if he wanted to. He was a vacuum; a black hole of pain and muddled words and acid breath.

His chest felt like it could explode.

Chewie, sensing the retching episodes over, plucked the reeking basin out of Luke's arms and placed it on top of Lando's get-well card, which flattened with a crunch. Then he pressed Luke into his fur and held him there, sitting as gently as a Wookiee could possibly sit on the edge of the hospital bed.

 _"Grrrgh,"_ Chewie murmured as Luke spluttered and sobbed, heart racing and pounding against his ribcage, as if he was keeping it captive inside of him. The spiking lines were even more jagged now, shrieking in his ears without a time signature.

 _Shut it off,_ Luke pleaded, his shaking hand finding the plastic loop around his middle finger. _I can't take it any—_ He tugged, and the oximeter slipped off into his mechanical palm.

Lando cursed, and Luke looked up from celebrating his success. "Blast it, Luke—!"

The wailing monitors were almost instantaneous.

Luke's room was flooded with droids and nurses, both of whom had annoyed, almost tired looks on their faces. As if well-rehearsed for a skit, each being grabbed onto Luke, soothed a monitor, or adjusted a piece of machinery.

One female nurse patted Luke's cheek, lowering his bed down until his line of sight was halved. Then in a weary, patient voice she said: "Luke, honey, keep the oximeter on your finger. It's helping you, dear. Let's not do this a fifth time."

And the oximeter with its blinking red light was snapped back on to his middle finger, reassuming its role to weigh down his hand. Luke stared up at the tiled ceiling, his cheek still warm with the finger pads of the nurse.

A fifth time.

 _Force help him_ , he couldn't even remember.

In an intricate system of weaving and unweaving the various chords that attached to tabs on his chest and lower abdomen, the nurses peeled his wreaking clothes off and left them off, letting Luke get a true glimpse at his state. He could feel Lando doing the same.

His bare chest was bandaged expertly, thankfully saved from the contents of his stomach. The gauze dodged the tabs and chords, making for a strange, burial like fashion. Elsewhere was bandaged in the same fashion, bacta patches pocking his arms and stomach. Slowly, he turned his head to see his left bicep wound up in a cast, the dark band of stitches peeking out of each end, one lacing up his hopelessly numb neck. Darkly, Luke realized his legs must be in a similar state, if not worse: his right leg was raised up slightly, thicker and heavier than his left.

As the nurses left and the remaining droids turned to a protocol check, prodding at his chest, listening intently and pressing cold metal cones to his ribs, stomach, neck, and what it could reach of his back. The machinery only looked up from their work when the door swung open once again, sending Luke back into a teary, blinking mess. His hands went back up to his ears, careful as to not upset the all-important red light.

 _Go away,_ Luke pleaded. _Please, just leave me alone._

Only when he heard a familiar voice did he try to look up.

"Luke? Oh, Luke!" Leia's worried face appeared blurrily above him, hands trailing everywhere, checking everything, squeezing assuringly. "Is his voice back?" she asked quickly, turning out of Luke's view, to Chewbacca. The Wookiee growled back: _Not anymore._

Luke tried to reason the disappointment from Leia's face.

Five times, or at least four, Luke had been awake enough to wrench the oximeter from his finger. Four times he must have looked up at the unostentatious ceiling. Maybe Leia and Han were there. Maybe he had been alone. Maybe it was an hour ago, a day ago, a week. He had no idea.

"Has he been sick?!" Leia cried, looking at the decrepit basin on the table. Her disgust was palpable, and Luke resisted the urge to cry again. He was not a crybaby. He was Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight.

Miserable, lonely, silent, arguably drunk Luke Skywalker.

Leia placed her hand on his chest. "Is this all right?" she asked quietly, like a secret Lando and Chewie weren't supposed to hear. "Are _you_ all right?"

Two very separate questions, but Luke only had the energy for one answer. A single nod, eyes closed, melting into Leia's ghostlike touch.

 _I am now,_ Luke thought, knowing somehow Leia would hear. She always did.

"You can sleep again, Luke. We don't mind, do we boys?" Leia said. Luke felt the breeze as she turned to face Lando and Chewbacca. They must have agreed. "Good night, Luke."

And he slept.

* * *

"And I told that _nerfherder_ where he could go!"

The shouting and laughing made Luke stir, and before he knew it he was wide-eyed and watching Han Solo and Chewbacca reenacting some sort of ridiculous fight scene.

Han was bent low, his fingers raised like a gun, one eye closed in focus at the wall. Chewie stood behind him, arms above his head, shaking and rattling imaginary beings. Han would dodge a blast and fire one back, dodge and fire, never leaving his position of covering the Wookiee's back. Leia looked on with clear amusement, her eyebrow raised.

"Now, Chewie and I were in it knee deep, and as the troopers started to close in we—" Chewie growls, slamming imaginary heads together. Han aims and fires off more rounds rolling on the unforgiving tile to improve effects. Leia claps. Han points and fires at her, and she places a delicate hand on her forehead, slumping back into her chair along with the game. With ever the grace of an actor, Han cleans his finger blaster and shoves it into his belt loop. Chewie smooths his hair back into place.

"Well done, flyboy," Leia congratulates, clapping slowly as they took their bows. "I can't believe you made it out alive."

"Ah, but we…" Han trailed off, his eyes locking onto Luke's. "Hey. Hey! Luke's up! Hey, buddy!" The room tilted in his direction immediately; Leia, Han, and Chewie all clambering to get the plastic chairs. Leia and Chewie won out, and Han sat gently on the edge of the bed. Luke could hear the crinkling bedspread underneath him.

"Hey," Luke croaked. Three beaming smiles.

"It's so good to hear your voice!" Leia gushed, placing a kiss on his cheek. Luke automatically looked to Han, but there was no tight grimace. Only relief.

"How long have I been out?" Luke asked tentatively. Chewie itched at his back uncomfortably. Leia and Han shared a knowing glance.

"About a day," Leia finally said. Han smirked.

"But you gave us one helluva week, kid."

Luke wiggled his flesh fingers, then his toes. They didn't feel numb, just pleasantly tingly. He had every intention on pretending he was never hungover…whenever that day was.

"Can I sit up?"

Leia picked up the remote. "Tell me if it's too fast. I don't want to upset… anything." Luke nodded. Then whirring noisily, he was upright. The room looked the same—the plastic chairs, the glass double doors, the medical screens. There was more light, now, emanating from small bulbs on the walls. He could see his friends' eager faces, and he swallowed hard. There was so much to say, and yet nothing seemed like the _right_ thing to say.

"Where am I?" That was a good place to start.

Han swept a hand through his mop of hair. "Chandrila."

"Chandrila!" Luke squawked. Leia's hand was on his chest again.

"Han, lets not talk about that. Luke, we want to know how you're feeling," she glared daggers at Han, sharing her warmth with Luke alone. Han sulked.

Luke stared at his friends, confused. "What about Endor?"

"Eh?" Han asked, leaning in closer. Luke's voice was already reduced to whispering. Nevertheless, he repeated himself. Han leaned back, thinking. Leia shot him warning looks. "We were on Endor for about three hours. That stupid droid told us you were becoming unstable, and there was nothing more we could do for you on the planet surface. So, we took you back up into the air and the first answer to our distress call was—"

"Mon Motha," Leia finished, cutting Han's story short. "She opened up her home and her private facilities. She probably saved your life."

Luke sank into the pillows, feeling weak. "How did you find me?"

Leia, placed her other hand on Han's chest now, as if separating the two young men in a fight, not a whispered conversation. "We don't have to talk about this now, Luke."

"I want to know!"

"He deserves to know!"

Han and Luke had protested at the same time, making Leia recollect herself. She sighed, taking her hands down and placing them in her lap. Princess mode, Han would call it.

"When the shield went down, and the fleet went in to attack the main reactor… I felt… we knew something had gone wrong. We sent up a transmission to the Admiral and he got one of his pilots to go in after you."

"They said it was just chaos in there, kid. They had no idea where you were, there were troopers and officers everywhere—no one even went to stop them. No questions asked. When they finally found you… Vader had escaped, and so had the Emperor. They found you lying on the edge of this hole." Han tried to motion out the events, standing up and flailing his hands. Luke was lost in the details.

 _His father was gone?_

"The Emperor…" Luke started, "My father killed him. He threw him down that hole."

Silence.

Han sat down heavily.

"It's true," Luke pleaded unnecessarily. He knew that they believed him. "I watched him. But… Vader he…he was so hurt. And… his mask…"

"He was gone, Luke." Leia wouldn't make eye contact. She stared only at the monitor.

"Then what happened?" he pressed, despite knowing Leia had enough.

"Then the pilot hauled your sorry—"

 _"Han!"_

"—back to the Millennium Falcon, where we were all waiting. We watched that battle station get blown to bits as you…"

 _"Uarrrgh, huarrh,"_ Chewie growled. Han cringed. Leia stood up.

"This is enough," she ordered. Her Princess voice. "You are healing. That is what matters. We are all safe, we are all together, and Luke is healing."

Han and Chewie both agree mutedly.

Luke wanted to scream.

He was getting sugar-coated answers and censored events. His body was in shambles, his memories were spotty at best, and here were his closest friends dancing around the subject like a thermal detonator. He wanted to fling something across the room just to see it smash.

But he heard the Emperor's gravelly voice: _"Good! Your hate has made you powerful. Now, fulfill your destiny and take your father's place at my side!"_

He shivered. The anger drained away.

"Is there anything to drink?" he asked. Han stood up, eager to help.

"Hey, sure kid. What would you like? Ice chips? Water? Ice chips _and_ water?"

Luke smiled wanly. "Sure, Han."

"It's just good to hear your voice, hotshot!"

And he sped out of the room, the double doors swinging behind him.

A companionable silence followed, Leia's hand entwined with his, Chewie looking on the two with a certain sadness. Luke tried to ignore it, mainly staring at the ceiling in an effort to not aggravate the reaching wound on his neck. Without the thick numbness, he was distinctly aware of its bite and itch.

Soon after Han's departure, Chewie stood as well.

 _"Uurggheh uuh raahhgh huurh."_

The doors swung closed once more. Luke watched with a smirk as his friend's furry figure pushed past a smattering of surprised nurses. Leia squeezed his hand, obviously watching the same ordeal.

"He is frightening," Leia admitted softly. "When you let him get to you."

Luke scoffed hoarsely. "Ah, not good ol' Chewie."

"You scared us, too. We had no idea what had happened to you. We still don't." Leia looked at the monitors again, her eyes reflecting the jagged green line. "You don't have to explain, but I felt—"

"He told me I shouldn't be afraid. That…that I was going to leave for a little while. And I wasn't really scared, then. But now…"

Leia abruptly pulled him into a hug, her body pressing against his aching chest. He swallowed his yelp professionally, riding out the waves of pain emanating from his ribs and shoulder. _He could do this. He could do it for Leia._

She pulled back, almost sheepishly. Then tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ears she said, "You are going to be fine. Whatever Vader said to you, it means nothing. You just focus on getting better."

"Getting better from _what?"_

Leia paused.

"From… oh, Luke. Why you? Why now, after things are starting to look brighter?" She folded him in her arms again. Luke hissed in pain, squeezing his eyes shut as his body pulsed against his will. Leia backed off as if he had shot her. Her red-rimmed eyes shone against the lamplight.

"I'm sorry," Luke squeaked pitifully. "I'm sorry, Leia."

"It's all right, Luke," she said, settling back to holding his hand. Somehow, those words resonated in the recesses of Luke's sketched memories. "It's all going to be all right."

The siblings didn't let go of each other's hands for the rest of the night; they held on through Han's dramatic entrance with the prized ice chips, through the horrendous ordeal of eating them, and after an hour or so, the ceremonial 'fresher trip. Leia gripped onto his arm as he shifted so his feet touched the icy tile. On his right leg wrapped a chunky black brace, gathering in a boot at his ankle. Luke reasoned it was meant for walking, and tested his weight on it. It held.

"Let me help," she said in her Princess voice. She wasn't asking. She was telling.

"No, Leia, please. Let me do this on my own. I-I need to do this alone."

"Jeez, let the kid pee in peace. Its not like he's asking to go fight his maniacal father alone in the Emperor's throne room," Han watched the room as his joke fell flat. He then cleared his throat. "Let him go, princess."

Leia let go of his hand.

After a few seconds of unsteadiness, Luke settled himself on his own two feet and accepted the crutch given to him, made his way to the 'fresher door. He could feel his friends holding their breath as he shut the door behind him.

Hobbling the last few steps to the toilet, Luke collapsed fully clothed onto the seat. Swollen face in bandaged hands, Luke mourned.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Doctor Zha held Luke's pill container in the palm of his hand, then he slipped it into his pristine coat pocket. Luke watched with growing dread.

"The current medications can affect your brain's usual electrical activities. Taking them can skew your test results." Doctor Zha patted his pocket, flipping through the clipboard papers with his other hand. "Along with your medications, I'll have to ask you to stay away from caffeinated food and drink."

The twinkle in his eyes made Luke burn with shame. He hadn't been able to eat anything richer than broth or ice chips since he woke up for good two days ago.

"That's it?"

"Take a bath tonight. Wash your hair out good."

Luke nodded, not sure what that had to do with anything at all.

He sat up in his bed, sheets folded underneath him. The lights were dimmed for his minor concussion, his casted arm resting gingerly against his sore stomach. His braced leg stretched out in front of him.

"What about…the casts?" Luke asked. Doctor Zha set down the clipboard and reached out for Luke's leg. With two calculated yanks, the straps to the thick, black brace gave. Luke grimaced at the dull, thudding pain of the swollen limb.

"The brace comes off. Hold your cast above the water. Let someone else scrub."

Luke swallowed hard, nodding again. "I'll do my best."

"And we'll do ours, Mr. Skywalker." The doctor strapped the brace back together. Luke squeaked. "The electroencephalogram is scheduled for tomorrow at nine."

"Yes sir."

As Doctor Zha turned to leave, he said: "Oh, and Luke?"

"Yes sir?"

"I have to ask you not to sleep tonight."

"Not-not sleep?" He hadn't really slept all that much the last nine days, even with the help of the sleeping pills now tucked in the doctor's pocket. "Why?"

"Just keep yourself occupied with your friends and family, or go down to the dining halls—but remember, no caffeine to keep you awake—the distance isn't too far for you to crutch."

Luke held up a weak thumbs up with his casted arm. "No caffeine. I'll stay busy."

Doctor Zha walked out of the room, leaving Luke to stare at his braced ankle, his fractured arm, his patched chest, and his stitched neck one after the other, after the other.

* * *

Han stared at Luke with a quizzical frown. "So you want to go explore Mon Motha's private hideaway with your little crutches?"

"Not the whole thing. Just the dining hall."

"Right. So you want to go to the dining hall of Mon Motha's private hideaway with your crutches. And your broken ankle."

"Han, if you're worried you can come with me."

Han snorted, poking at the stack of paperwork that sat on the bedside table. Luke's legs dangled over the edge of the bed, crutches poised under his arms. "I'm supposed to be reading the legal garbage for this test which I can't even _pronounce,_ let alone agree to let my friend do."

"It's electro-encephal-o-gram."

"Don't get cocky, kid."

Luke tucked his chin into his chest and smiled. His eyelids were starting to droop an hour in to his all-nighter before the test. The inevitable soreness without all the doses of pain medication in his system was starting to creep into his chest, his arm, his leg. The little lamps on the walls itched at the headache between his eyes. Still, he saved the smile as Han looked him over, overanalyzing him.

"Alright, fine. Go on your exciting new adventure."

Luke quickly gathered the crutches under his arms. "I'll be back in an hour!"

"I should hope so," Han mumbled, shifting through the paperwork again. "Eat something, for all our sake's. Something beefy. Anything other than icechips."

"I thought you liked getting me ice?"

" _Kriff,_ no. Any more bowls of that and I'll lose fingers." Luke was all the way to the door before Han placed the papers down again. "And take Chewie with you!"

Luke peeked out the glass double doors to see the Wookiee sitting patiently on a bench outside of his room, scratching at his hairy thigh. He was waiting for him. _He was waiting for him._

 **"** Hey…" Luke said. "Conspirers!"

Han shrugged, flopping the pile of paperwork onto the ground. "Scoundrels! Caught us!"

Luke shook his head, smirking. He tried to push the door with the end of his crutch, then with his good shoulder. They didn't budge. Chewie stood and took the door handle, opening it wide enough for Luke to crutch through.

 _"Uughgughhhgh wrrhw aarrragghuuhw uuh,"_ he said to Han over Luke's head. Han waved them away, feigning a studious pose.

"I know you will, Chewie. Just get out of here, will you?"

Chewie grinned and closed the door behind them.

Luke crutched down the long white hallway, Chewie lumbering alongside of him quietly. A few lingering droids turned to look at them, but none of the nurses paused their work. In a set of half-closed doors, Luke glimpsed a machine full of what looked like hundreds of wires. Doctor Zha stood with two droids near a large screen.

He quickened his crutching.

Mon Motha's dining area consisted of a long slender table with pristine white benches to match, a counter manned by a small silver droid, and a water faucet with white plastic cups. The bright, iridescent lights burned holes into Luke's head, and Chewie guided him to a seat as he hissed from pain. When the soft hand disappeared from his shoulder, he hesitated in placing his crutches down. With watering eyes, he searched the little area for his friend.

He didn't want to be alone— _what if everything he had been told was wrong, and the Emperor wasn't dead, and Vader hadn't disappeared, and they were looking for him, waiting for their opportunity to strike—_

The lights dimmed, and Luke blinked and blinked as scenery appeared.

Chewbacca stood by the light switch.

While Luke arranged his crutches so that he could access them quickly and without help, Chewie ordered two plates of food from the little droid. She slipped into the back room, reappearing with a plate of green gelatin and broth. Luke swallowed the stomach acid he could already taste on the back of his tongue.

Chewie set the two plates down on the table, staring at Luke expectantly.

Luke poked a few holes in the cubes of green gelatin, wishing for his stomach to settle down. His hands shook, his lips dry and cracked. His whole body felt tense.

Chewie shook his head. _"Aarrragghuuhw raahhgh."_

He set his fork down, looking at the cubes with a queasy expression.

"I don't think I can eat it, Chew," he said. Chewie pushed the plate closer, pointedly. "I-I guess I'm too nervous to eat. I'll eat after the testing's done."

Chewbacca rubbed his eyes, growling and mumbling, but Luke's brain had clogged up again. He stared at the white plaster without blinking. His casted arm rested heavily on the table, the near perfect right angle making it awkward and painful to lean on. It throbbed and pulsed from the slowly dwindling pain medication. And he was already exhausted…

 _"Raahhgh raahhgh aaaaahnr!"_

Luke licked his lips. "I know the testing is tomorrow, Chew, but I…" Chewie pushed the plate even closer, picking up a spoon in his large, furry hands. He dipped it into the broth and held it up to Luke's mouth. "What? Oh, no, Chewie. I-I-I—I can feed myself. Thank you, though."

Chewie cocked his head. _"Aarrragghuuhw huurh uugggh uuh."_

Luke nearly choked.

Chewbacca _fed him_ when he was out?

The image of Chewie spooning liquids to him while he laid on the bed, white as the sheets—completely oblivious to all his friends were doing for him, going through for him—flashed through his mind. Chewie's rare spurts of patience that shone through when he was around Luke, his fatherly companionship, his protective nature…more than anything, Luke could remember Chewbacca's hands pushing his hair gently away from his forehead.

Luke went from reddening and embarrassed to ever so slightly grateful.

"I—thanks, Chew. I owe you one."

Chewbacca just wiggled the spoon by Luke's face. Luke took his good hand and guided it back to the plate.

"I'll try the green stuff, how about that?"

And the Wookiee agreed.

* * *

Luke had made it a total of ten hours awake and he felt awful.

His arm had gone from throbbing to screaming, his foot uncomfortably tight in his brace. His chest bandage had been taken off, revealing the pocks of stitches and bruises, of smaller gauze pads and bacta patches. The visual made him feel even worse.

Leia sat patiently at his bedside, receiving droid instructions and nurse's admonitions while Luke zoned in and out of conversation. Most of the medical terms Luke had never heard of—what was an anesthetic, and what did it have to do with the stitches along his neck?

After some time, the droids skittered out of the room and only one human nurse remained, talking softly to Leia in the far corner of the room. If he strained, he could hear pieces.

"—be careful of the—"

"—he's just so—"

"I know, but—"

Luke settled into the pillows, eyes drifting closed for just a few seconds…he wouldn't fall asleep…

"Luke?"

Leia's voice drifted through the sparks of golden light that had started to form in Luke's dreams. He started, snapping up out of the pillows, eyes wide.

"I wasn't asleep!" he said, feeling the sleep in his aching bones even as he said so. Leia frowned, reaching out and tracing a line along his jaw where the pattern of the pillow was etched in.

"And I believe that." She smirked turning back to where the nurse stood stiffly, clutching what looked like plastic rap in her hands. "Now, how about a bath?"

The next thing he knew he had both crutches under his arms and Leia was ushering him into the 'fresher. The small porcelain bathtub sat kitty corner to the toilet and sink. There was a flimsy curtain, a bar of soap, and the basin Luke had spent most of the last two days retching into. Leia placed a small container of shampoo next to the soap, then guided Luke in to the room with one hand outstretched, one hand balanced on Luke's back.

He could feel his heartbeat inside his ribs.

Not the normal _lub dub, lub dub_ of normal hearts. Something different.

More like _flutter stutter._

He leaned his crutches on the sink and Leia helped him with taking the brace off of his foot. His tunic lay somewhere back on his bed. His stitches along his neck strained against his bare, shivery skin.

Leia took his casted hand carefully into her own. "How do you feel?"

"Um," Luke started, staring down at his feet. "Dizzy?"

Leia took his good hand in hers then, helping him hop to the edge of the tub. He sat, staring at Leia in the dim lighting for his concussion. Her hair was let down and wavy, brown curls cascaded over her shoulders. Her hands were intertwined with his, soft and cold. She was beautiful.

Then, Leia ruffled his hair, kissed him on the top of his head, and laughed.

"Well, I hope you like your women tough and short, because she is going to get _really_ comfortable with you _really_ soon," Leia half-whispered, suppressing her giggles with her fingers to her lips.

 _Sister,_ Luke reminded himself. _You can't punch your twin sister._

The nurse burst through the door with her plastic wrap and shooed Leia out of the 'fresher, who left with a wink. Luke blushed, eyes darting away.

He sulked as the nurse whisked off his pants, lowered him into the tub, and turned on the faucet.

"Now, _I'll_ do _my_ best to scrub you down," the nurse tittered, wrapping Luke's arm full of clear plastic until it was twice the size and glittering with clear wrapping. "And all _you_ have to do is keep your cast dry. Can you do that for me, Luke, honey?"

Luke nodded, feeling his blush reach his ears.

The nurse scrubbed him down as promised, the jarring soap bar stinging in his healing cuts and stitched wounds. Once, he tweaked his ankle wrong and sent himself into a flurry of agony and regret. When the white spots cleared, the nurse was done with the soap and sat staring at him with the bottle of shampoo in her hands.

"Aw, did you twist your ankle wrong, Luke, honey?"

Luke couldn't bring himself to answer. He just lifted his casted arm a little higher out of the water and scrubbed at his wet face with the other.

The nurse massaged the shampoo in and rinsed it out just as quickly, jabbering about how important it was to have clean hair for the test. Luke nodded when he thought it would be appropriate, keeping his eyes trained on the white porcelain lip of the tub.

The water started to curl and drain underneath him. Luke sat up straight, anticipating the end of the bath. The nurse rubbed a towel over his dripping hair, gently patting down the stitches on his neck and cuts on his shoulders. He winced a few times when the fabric caught on a scab or stitch. The nurse would note it and slow down her scrubbing.

"There, honey," the nurse said as she placed the towel down and braced his ankle again. "Let's get you out."

Feeling soggy and sheepish, Luke was helped out of the bath and back to his feet. The nurse swept over his body one last time before she threw on his pants, tugging the thin linen over the large boot. She ripped open new packets of gauze and bandaged his chest. She wrapped his tunic back around him and congratulated him on his keeping his cast dry as she unraveled the fifty feet of plastic wrap.

Luke tried at a smile, but not with much effort.

Then, careful not to slip on the puddle-ridden floor, Luke crutched out of the 'fresher, glare set and ready for Leia when he got into the room. The Princess sat with grace and dignity on his bed, ankles tucked, with a packet of papers on her lap. Luke assumed it was the portion that Han didn't get around to reading.

"Oh, you're done?" she commented, looking up briefly.

Luke crutched over to the bed, mumbling. The nurse clapped her hands.

"Well, I'd love to stay and chat, Princess, Luke, honey." The nurse dipped her head at both of them on the bed. "But I've got to get some sleep before the electroencephalogram tomorrow. Have a good night!"

She waved. Leia gave a delicate wave back. Luke set his crutches down with a clattering _thunk_.

 _Jedi don't feel hate,_ he scorned himself as he scowled at the nurse all the way out the door.

As soon as the glass door shut, and the nurse disappeared from their view, Leia was laughing. Great, heaving laughs. Luke snorted, slipping under the covers and levering his braced foot up onto a pile of pillows. To his great chagrin, it didn't give much relief.

"Oh, what's so funny?" Luke finally said after Leia looked about to turn violet.

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

Luke let his head sink into the pillows, eyes drifting closed without him thinking of the consequences. He wouldn't fall asleep. The nightmares alone would keep him awake, and Leia's laughing would keep him awake if that didn't…

Leia patted his cheek. "Sleeping isn't allowed until tomorrow."

Luke pried one eye open, looking at the clock on the wall. "It _is_ tomorrow."

He had made it to one in the morning. Only seven hours left.

Leia smiled, shaking a finger at him. "Very clever."

The beeping noise that had accompanied him for the last nine days was gone—they had taken off the oximeter and the monitoring system as soon as he was up and around on his own two feet. He couldn't say he missed it, but… wasn't there something to the idea of knowing you're still alive? That you're heartbeat was filling the room you sat alone in, and in a way that meant you did have company? It lessened the ache in his chest just a little, to hear it still worked, no matter how backwards the rhythm.

Leia touched his cheek again, this time lightly and lingering on the purple bruise gathered at his cheekbone. If he focused too hard, the dark color made it hard to focus. Now, though, he could see Leia fine in the dwindling, dusky night.

"You're so brave, Luke."

Leia's eyes shimmered, and Luke made a promise to pretend to be braver.

"I'm just a kid from Tatooine."

Leia laughed again, but softer this time. Full of regret, of nerves. "Well, we can't have this. Get out of bed; I want to take a walk with you."

Luke pulled his crutches back under his sore armpits, feeling every part of his body groan from the movement. _I'll die before I show it hurts,_ he swore to himself as he hopped up onto his feet. _Leia wants a walk, and I will walk with her._

And they did.

* * *

Seven hours crawled by, and Luke agonizingly watched the clock. When eight in the morning arrived, he nearly fainted with relief. A droid came in the door to wheel him to the testing room, shiny and smelling of strong sanitation. Luke's head was swimming with lack of sleep and pain, and while he knew his friends were wishing him good luck, he didn't hear a word through his screaming skull.

The specialist stood outside the room he had seen with Chewie, both doors closed. He was short, stocky, with greenish skin and a brilliant white coat. Doctor Zha stood to the side, looking Luke over while he worried his lip.

"I'm your neurologist," the green being said, sticking out his hand. Luke reached out to grab it, grimacing at the effort it required. "Follow me, please."

The droid pushed him forward through the double doors, and Luke saw the machine in full. It's strange wires and screen, the long gray bed, a chair in the corner. The neurologist motioned to everything.

"Would you rather sit or recline?"

"Recline," Luke answered quickly. _Thank the Force, I finally get to sleep!_

The droid and Doctor Zha helped Luke onto the bed, guiding his head onto the thin pillow. The neurologist reappeared in Luke's line of sight holding little, flat, metal discs. He called them electrodes, and split jobs between the three beings: the neurologist would place a disc on Luke's skull, the droid held his head steady, and Doctor Zha would layer a slab of sticky paste on his skin so the disc would stick down. Luke lost count of the electrodes at eleven, when they put one in his nose.

"I'm just going to hook these up to my computer now, Luke," the neurologist said. "That's how we're going to read the electrical activity results."

The wires were connected one by one, a snapping noise echoing in Luke's head long after they were finished with the task.

"Now go ahead and close your eyes." Luke obeyed, feeling the relief of letting his eyelids close for longer than a blink or two. "And listen to me."

Luke tried, feeling the pull of sleep so close to him that it hurt.

Everything hurt.

The neurologist asked him to take deep, rapid breaths—twenty at a time, for exactly a minute. Luke tried to do his best, feeling the awful tightness in his ribs from hyperventilation. When the minute was up, he was asked to do it again.

And again.

He felt light headed, his fingers went numb.

"Good, Luke. Well done," Doctor Zha said. Luke squeezed away the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He could feel his heart thundering in his chest. "Now, can you open your eyes for me?"

Luke did so slowly.

The room went silent as Luke was allowed to stretch and regain his breath.

"I'm going to show you a light we call a strobe, now. Is that okay?"

Luke didn't answer, and a bright light flickered into existence, flashing quickly and brightly in his eyes. He yelped, raising his hands to block the light out. The droid appeared at his side and held his arms to the bed.

Through the awful, skull-splitting pain, he heard the neurologist _"hmm."_

When the light turned off, it was as if the world had stopped spinning for a few seconds, and all was quiet. He blinked and blinked, licking his dry lips and keening from the pound in his forehead.

"Sorry, Luke. We won't do that again to you. It was a test," Doctor Zha apologized, but it didn't sound like much of an apology. "How is your head?"

"Hurts," Luke moaned. Doctor Zha apologized again.

A stretch of time wafted by, and Luke lay still, only moving when the test stopped and Doctor Zha told him he could stretch his limbs.

His heart kept stuttering away, loud and hard in his chest, ears.

"Luke settle back down," the neurologist ordered, face lit with the computer screen. "We're starting again."

Luke did, settling back into the pillow and tucking his arms in at his sides.

"Alright, kiddo," Doctor Zha said, clapping Luke lightly on the shoulder. "Here's the moment you've been waiting for. Go ahead and take a nap."

"What?"

"Fall asleep, catch a few winks. It's a part of the test—why we asked you to stay up so long the night before."

Luke lay surprised for a moment before he shut his eyes, hunkering down into the tough mattress, and sighed. He could sleep! The rest of the test, he could sleep—no lights, no hyperventilating, just sleep. And he had been falling asleep all day…

He lay there for fifteen minutes. Twenty.

"I-I guess I'm not tired?" Luke said. The neurologist chuckled.

"Just use the sedative. It won't affect this section enough for us to hold it out."

Doctor Zha held a hypospray to his neck and Luke braced himself for the sharp, icy prick. It was about as bad as he expected—quick, but burning with cold.

 _He hated drugs._ He hated how they made him feel; the way he drifted through…through days, and the Force…simmering…

Luke fell asleep without a single dream.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Luke woke up still lying on the bed in the testing room. Most of the devices were still there, though the electrodes were gone, leaving only sticky residue in their absence. Doctor Zha and the neurologist were gone as well.

He peeled himself off the long gray bed, finding his crutches were stationed outside the room, near the door. Simple enough journey.

Luke looked down at his legs.

Simple.

He swung his feet over the side of the mattress, his braced foot hitting first. It twinged, but it seemed harmless enough. He stood, looking up at his crutches just a few paces away.

"Luke?"

Han stood in the doorway, arms crossed, seemingly right next to his crutches. Waiting. Luke licked his lips, finding his throbbing skull to deepen the longer he looked into the light of the hallway, the silhouette of his friend.

"Need your crutches, hotshot?"

"Sure."

Han grabbed them, tossing one after the other under his armpits before gimping over to where Luke precariously balanced.

"How do you use these things?" He handed them over to Luke, who took them gratefully. Luke shrugged as Han bumped into his shoulder playfully, escorting him for another two steps before Luke started to sway. "Easy, kid. They said the sedative might make you groggy. How about you sit back down, and I'll take your crutches, and we'll just wait out those last few minutes for it to wear off?"

The room was tilting, and Luke couldn't bring himself to say otherwise.

"At least it's the good stuff, eh?" Han said, shouldering him again once he was sitting back down on the bed. "Is it the lights?"

Luke shrugged again.

In one swift motion, Han pulled out his blaster, aimed, and fired at the light switch. The room went dark.

"Captain Solo, I know you have your friend's best interest at heart, but would you _please_ refrain from putting holes in my facilities?" Mon Motha in all her brilliant white garb appeared in the doorway. Han stretched an arm around Luke's shoulder, the other stuffing his blaster back in the holster.

"I'm sorry, but I was told two things: not leave the kid's side, and take care of him. Not sure how putting holes is in the wrong at this point, your grace."

 _"You're wrong. Soon I'll be dead, and you with me."_

Why his taunt to the Emperor rang in his head then escaped Luke, and terrified him.

Mon Motha gave an overly-patient smile. "I'll have someone down to fix it soon. For now, I only ask one question of young Skywalker." Luke braced himself. "What happened that night, Skywalker?"

 _What happened that night, Skywalker?_

 _What happened?_

"I-I—"

Luke's eyes darted downward, toward his bandaged arm. Han hugged him tighter to his side, squeezing his bruised shoulders. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat, skipping and skipping _and skipping and—_

"Why don't we all meet up for some green gelatin and talk about it later?" Han said tightly, his humor showing he was only half kidding. "He's just woke up from whatever the heck they put him through and I'm not going to sit here and watch him shake."

Luke hadn't realized he was shivering.

He pulled his hands into his lap, trying to gather himself.

"I owe an explanation. I had to go, I surrendered myself. I'm sorry I went behind the Rebellion's back." Luke whispered. Her eyes told him that wasn't a valid explanation. "The Emperor told me my destiny was to join him."

Mon Motha leaned forward. Luke wet his lips, his voice cracking.

"But when I saw…him lying there, barely breathing, because of me…"

His world started to spin.

His memory was missing scenes. _Whole scenes._

Han let out a low noise that could have been mistaken for a growl.

"How about _you_ go meet my friend outside, and have a _nice long chat_ while Luke and I start to breathe normally again? His name is Chewbacca the Wookie. You can't miss him," Han said through clenched teeth.

Mon Motha's gaze was even. She inclined her head.

"I apologize, I understand if you're not yet ready to speak. In time, though, if you are to remain in my facilities, I expect a full brief of that night."

"You don't actually think Luke is some sort of spy, right? That's-that's—"

Han had pulled Luke closer, almost against his chest.

Luke's goo-covered skin sort of stuck to him.

"I am merely asking Master Skywalker to go through standard protocol, nothing more. A full brief is all I ask. And a truthful one at that. Good night to you both."

Mon Motha floated out of the room, barely looking over her shoulder as Chewbacca stood up at his full height on her left. Han and Luke watched her go.

"Easy, kid, easy," Han said over and over, rubbing his shoulder as he glared over his shoulder at the door. "What the _hell_ is she thinking, coming in here, guns blazing…"

Luke tuned him out, focus drifting down to his hands in his lap, their uncontrollable shake, the _lub dub-dd_ sound thundering in his wrists.

It was a perfectly innocent question. Everyone had to go through briefings, especially solo missions. He wasn't an exception. There were pilots he knew that had come back from the brink of death to give their full briefs, barely breathing and freshly dipped. Hadn't he done the same, back when the Rebels were stationed on Hoth, and that Wampa had him upside down for Force knows how long—

He was Luke Skywalker.

Rebel Pilot.

Hero of the Alliance.

Jedi Master.

Son of Lord Vader.

"You know, I've seen torture chambers that looked just like this room," Han muttered, still rubbing his shoulder. "And I ain't trying to undermine that hag's medical staff, but good lord this place is getting creepy. Think you're ready to get out of here?"

Luke nodded.

Han called for Chewie to _"go grab a wheelchair, pal, and walk a little slower, why don't you?"_ as Luke sunk into Han's embrace for a few more moments.

"You know, I'm not much of a hugger," Han admitted. "So you can tell me if I'm doing this whole comforting thing wrong."

Luke tried for a laugh. "Thanks Han."

"No problem, kid." A short laugh. "You're stuck to me."

Luke pulled back, his cheek and forehead making a smacking noise as he did so. His hair stuck in strange places too. And his nose felt weird.

Chewbacca pushed a wheelchair into the room a few moments after, growling about nosy staff and dismemberment. Luke slowly shifted from Han's chest to sitting straight, to standing, then melted quickly back down into the chair.

Force, he wished he had the energy to walk right past the chair, right down the hall and out onto the nearest ship out of this place.

Or even, just the energy to argue just a little, _just a little._

Han took the handles of the chair. Chewie grabbed Luke's crutches.

The hallway, upon his arrival, slowly dimmed to a tolerable brightness level. Han kept up a stream of conversation, talking about the terrible food quality, the lack of privacy anywhere, and the Alliance's celebration plans—

"What?" Luke interrupted, quickly trying to backtrack in the one-sided chatter. "The Alliance is going _back_ to Endor?"

Han shrugged. "C-3PO's fault mostly. _I_ was against it."

"You're turning down a party?"

"Those fuzzy things don't party like I do, hotshot."

All Han knew was this: that the Alliance was starting a ripple of hope across the galaxy, that these sort of celebrations were popping up on every planet, in every major city, and that parades were not an uncommon sight. Rebel troops were depleted and catching up on much-needed rest and medical leave, but in a day's time, they would all get back together where that last battle had been fought and celebrate the coming of a new era. Together.

It had been ten days since that night…

"Sounds like hippy garbage to me," Han said loudly. "But…Leia wants to go. And because she's a princess, she'll probably get her way."

The threesome passed through the entrance of the dining hall, engulfing them in rich smells of thick soups and dark-crusted bread. Luke's stomach turned almost at the same time his stomach grumbled.

Lando sat alone at the tables.

"Thought you might be hungry?" Lando said quietly, eyes darting from Luke then back down to the floor. His eyes held a wounded look to them. "And I also wanted to apologize."

Chewie gave an approving mew.

Luke pushed at the wheelchair sides, getting himself onto his feet. He crossed the distance between him and Lando with little difficulty, despite Han and Lando's protesting, and wrapped his arms around Lando's back with a heavy thud of his casted arm on skin and bone.

"It was my fault, Lando," he said into the fabric of Lando's cape.

"Like hell it was." He paused, and Luke heard him take a deep, choppy breath. "Blast all this, Luke. You going to be at the celebration, right? The worst is behind us, right?"

"Yeah, of course."

Han snorted. "I'm here to eat more _delicious_ hospital food, so if you two would _sit down already_ I'll get us a few plates."

Lando gave Luke a hearty pat on the back. Luke forced a smile.

True to his word, Han returned balancing four plates of bread and cheese, glasses of blue milk and a bowl of thin soup, handing one plate and cup to each, plus the soup to Luke. Chewbacca poked at his meal, frowning. Lando started to pull the bread apart without eating it. Han drained the milk. Luke stared at it all with a sick feeling.

No one talked.

Luke thought as he stared into the soup, his face looking even more sickly and pale in the broth's reflection. His face still stuck and itched where the EEG glue had been, and his hand stuck to his forehead as he rested his head, settling in to wait out the meal.

"So," Han started from the silence. "At least we can look forward to real food back on Endor."

They all voiced their agreement.

* * *

Leia fixed his collar for the fourth time, his dark outfit he had chosen so carefully for the Endor celebratory occasion feeling…wrong. Too similar to that night.

He couldn't peel his eyes away from his reflection.

Under his eyes were dark pockets of sleepless purple, his arms aching and stiff. The line of stitches across his left side had showed starkly against his pale skin, dotted with green and yellow bruises. He slumped, unable to handle the sharp throb of his wounds at full height. His arm and leg kept time to the ugly rhythm of his heart. His chin, where he was told he had fractured his jaw, was slowly turning a deep black.

Test results and old-fashioned x-rays were slowly rolling back from off-planet. Mon Motha's facilities were limited in their machinery, loaning and borrowing from other facilities nearby. Not moving Luke was preferred—Luke the _fragile hero_ —to having to move him. Force knew they wouldn't tell Luke why.

So many tests he didn't realize he had been through.

All but the one he was really worried about.

X-rays showed his fractured jaw, fractured eye socket. They blared his stupidity at using crutches by showing the fractures in his humerus, and hairline fractures in his fibula. Two ribs, almost coinciding perfectly with the stitches and bacta patches, were broken.

Still, he had begged Dr. Zha to let him go to Endor.

 _"Fracture, fracture, fracture, hairline fracture, and two broken ribs._ Broken ribs _, Mr. Skywalker. According to these results, you_ should _be in bed,"_ Dr. Zha had muttered. Luke had promised he'd find a chair the moment he got there. What convinced the doctor was not that, but Chewbacca's agreement as well.

Then the doctor had apologized, apologized for putting Luke through testing when his body was in such bad shape, against his better judgment.

Luke had twice the amount of anesthetic and pain blocker in him than he asked for; still, it was less than what he had been on in the beginning. Dr. Zha said he wasn't taking any chances with Luke being laid out in the middle of space.

Luke felt it. Even with the drugs, he felt every injury.

And yet, when Leia looked at him, his battered body still produced a smile.

"I'll just have to wash your hair again by hand," Leia tsked. "That glue just isn't coming out."

Luke choked out a laugh. "Sorry Leia."

"Stop apologizing." She tousled his hair, shagging up his bangs until the glue caught and kept at a ninety-degree angle. "You know that it's not too late to back out of all of this, right? We'll tell the Alliance that you're just not quiet ready for—"

"I don't want them to know any of this."

She frowned, moving so that he had to look her in the eyes. "They'll understand, Luke. Besides, you can't exactly hide your casts and crutches."

"Not that, the…"

 _Whatever was going on inside of his brain. Whatever they were testing for._

Leia's lips thinned to a straight line. "There's nothing definite on that yet. Nothing to worry yourself about now."

At his sister's beckoning, he limped over to the sink one more time, letting her scrub (admittedly rougher this time through) at the glue in his hair and face. If possible, her lips were thinner yet.

"I'm sor—"

"Don't apologize. Just sit."

He did.

"And if I get even a feeling that you're not up to this, I'll have all five of us back on that ship and headed straight back here, got it? I'm not going to put your health back in jeopardy."

Luke quickly agreed, hearing the Princess sneak back into his sister's voice fast and dangerously.

She held a towel to his head and he took it, rubbing his head dry, feeling the fabric catch on the stubborn goo. He thought better than to tell Leia about it, especially as she made the last touches to her own outfit.

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

He crutched slowly out of the room behind her.

Since joining the Rebellion, Luke's circle of friends grew exponentially, almost filling the hole that was created when he saw his Aunt and Uncle…and the smell of their flesh…

But no, there was Han and Leia and Chewie, and Lando and his squadron, and his commanders and generals that all treated him like their son or brother or best friend. It all made it worth it, every time he sacrificed a bit of himself or his time to fill their needs. It was his gut response, weaved so deep inside him it rivaled the Force that ran in his veins, that need to help others.

He was Leia's Luke, Han's hotshot, Chewie's companion, Lando's friend.

So much so that he was forgetting who the Luke on Tatooine was.

They made their way to the Falcon, Luke swallowing his sleepiness to keep conversation with his sister, who practically glowed at the change of scenery. Her dress rolled like waves in the hangar wind, her hair long and let down in loose curls. She was the picture of beauty. His _sister_ , a princess, and a helluva general too.

"Keep staring and people will start to talk," Leia said, laughing.

Luke smiled to himself.

His shirt wrinkled over the protective layers of gauze covering the stitches on his chest, the fabric pulled taut over his casted arm. The brace on his leg covered his tailored pants up to his knee, making him look ridiculously lopsided.

And the _tick, tick, tick_ of his crutches was going to drive him insane.

Each time he took a step, the slash along his arm and neck pulled, and he would wince, then do it again. _Keep up with Leia. Don't complain. It doesn't hurt nearly as bad as being left alone would._

"Good to see you up and about, kid!" Han called from his spot on top of the Millennium Falcon. "You look like hell, but I'm sure a few drinks and we'll all feel better. Hey, Chewie! Get the thrusters online and we're outta here."

Leia ruffled his hair again, her soft smile turning into a frown.

"You're still sticky!"

The fivesome boarded the ship, C-3PO jovially greeting _Master Luke_ and congratulating him on his bravery. R2-D2 whirred his usual borderline-dirty jokes. Lando was sprawled out in the cockpit, running his hands over the consul.

"Get out!" Han crowed. "That's _my_ seat."

 _"Arrah grrha!"_ Chewie said.

"Fine, fine, you old scoundrel! I'm just saying hello to her!"

Leia helped Luke into one of the seats, readying for takeoff.

"Look at them argue," she said under her breath. "They're just like an old married couple. You'd think that this ship would get sick of them and just spit them all back out."

Luke shrugged, then regretted it as his stitches tugged. His eyes kept threatening to slide shut. "Not jealous, right?"

Leia's eyes shone. "Absolutely not."

* * *

He kept waiting for something dastardly to happen. Star destroyers coming out of nowhere, strange galactic beasts or villains appearing on deck, enemies of the Alliance coming to hunt them down—

But there was nothing.

He was so tired, yet he could not sleep.

He knew there were no threats, yet he saw them at every corner.

Luke tried to drag in breath after breath, focusing on that to ground him. The Emperor's reign had been defeated. Vader—his father—was turned from the Dark Side.

 _He could still be out there,_ Luke thought suddenly. _There's still a chance that that hole didn't swallow him up, that he didn't fall right after the Emperor did._

But he hadn't been there to see it.

He had been…been…

The Falcon started its decent, and Luke could already see the fireworks from the window, shooting miles into the air, sprouting leaves of scattered light above the treetops themselves. Blue, green, gold, red…

 _Red, red, red, like his father's lightsaber._

 _Like his vision when he had seen his father's form on the ground, ready to finish him off and with him wipe out the hatred and violence he had spread._

"Ready to get drunk?" Han's head ducked into the room where Leia was helping Luke back onto his feet. _Force,_ his _chest_ was so _tight he could barely breathe._

"Don't get carried away, flyboy," Leia said, moving from Luke to Han with the sway of her hips, her hand going through Han's barely-combed hair before their lips met. Luke looked away.

 _Let them celebrate. They're grateful to be alive._

And yet Luke found…he found that with so many gone…

He would _feel_ the emptiness tonight, how many they had lost, and the _pain_ he had felt each time a life was taken from the fight. How many young lives were taken because Luke wasn't fast enough, wasn't brave enough, wasn't strong enough, wasn't smart enough to defeat the Emperor when he had the chance? The Rebel bases were destroyed, hundreds of families broken, thousands more grieving.

He was one that lived.

Grateful didn't cover it. Guilty got close.

 _Force,_ why was it so hard to breathe?

His ribs felt like they were slowly closing in, like when he had first met Han and Leia, and they were trapped—hopelessly trapped with time slowly running out—in the Death Star's trash compactor.

"Hey, kid." Han's voice. "You good?"

"Of course," Luke said, hating how hoarse his voice sounded. "Let's go see everyone."

But not everyone. _Because so many were dead._

It was night, and the stars felt especially bright. Too bright.

They made their way into the festivities, Han walking close to Leia, Chewie walking close to Luke, the difference being Leia and Han were holding hands; Chewie was waiting for Luke to fall.

A bonfire seemed to be the epicenter of the event, Rebels and Ewoks and old friends dancing and talking around its roaring glow. There were drums—the constant beat Luke felt in his chest—singing, dancing, laughing. The helmets of storm troopers were passed around, beat on, spat on.

This is what victory looked like.

There was still a fair amount that looked beaten. A pilot with a sling, a young commander missing a leg, plenty of bruises and stitches and patches. He wasn't the worst out of them, wasn't the best out of them either.

 _There should be so many more._

Their small group dispersed, Lando moving on to hug nearly everyone he ran into, Leia and Han pulling off to the side to dance, C-3PO and R2 getting surrounded by little Ewoks. Chewie nudged Luke, probably a cue for him to find a chair, and Luke took another look around. There was a small group of pilots gathered around a smaller fire, seated on logs, holding mugs and glasses.

Luke crutched over, Chewie close behind.

"Hey, fellas," he tried for nonchalant. Hard when he was just so loud and noticeable, limping pitifully with a Wookie for an escort. "Mind if I join?"

The pilots scooted in their seats. A mug materialized from seemingly nowhere. One pilot from Rogue squadron—Rogue 4, Hobbie—smiled.

"What about letting some guys know you're alive, eh?"

"I've been in and out," Luke said. _Laugh about it or cry about it._

"In and out of death's door? 'Cause you sure look like it."

Luke took a long look at his mug, wondering if he could stomach any of it.

"I actually haven't heard much of what all happened," Luke started, glancing back at Chewbacca quickly.

"We won," Janson, one of the gunners, said.

"Besides that. Details." Luke had to swallow hard. "How many we lost."

The pilots exchanged glances. They looked tired; like men that lost too much.

"The Alliance fleet arrived to a fully operational Death Star. Ground forces managed to take out the shield generator but…not before we lost a lot of ships. A lotta men, too. Got to that damn reactor core and outta there before we could lose any more. It was chaos," Hobbie said.

"Who?" Luke asked, voice cracking before he could finish his question.

"Kott, Yong from Gray 3, Frix—that poor kid that took your call sign. We think Zev, too, 'cause we haven't heard from him. Force, we thought _you_ too," Janson said, elbowing the pilot next to him, who splashed his drink down the front of him. "But lucky us, we were wrong."

 _So many dead. So many dead. So many dead._

Luke took an experimental sip. The drink burned all the way down.

 _Maybe,_ he thought. _It will help whatever's lodged in my throat._

More stories were exchanged, more music and dancing and food and drink. Luke felt distant from it, his thoughts drifting.

He looked to the side, and he thought…he thought he saw…

Luke set his mug down. "I'll be right back, don't worry"

"The hell are you going?" Janson asked. "Luke?"

He could barely here their protests. Chewie had probably started to follow.

"Ben?"

Luke called out into the darkness, trees creating a knitted picture frame where Ben Kenobi stood, shimmering with the _proudest look in his eyes_ next to Yoda, who smugly grinned at him.

Luke found himself smiling back.

 _"Luke, I could not be more proud of you,"_ Ben said, motioning to Luke with a sweeping hand, then to Yoda. "We _could not be more proud."_

"I-I thought—"

 _He had thought Vader would have been with them._

 _"Your father has not joined us with the Force, though I can feel him nearing us. He thinks of you in his lucid moments."_

 _"Grateful, he is. Saddened, too, yes, sad he can never see you again,"_ Yoda chimed. Luke blinked away at the stinging in his eyes.

His father was alive!

"Where is he?" Luke said, stepping closer to his mentors. "If I knew where he was, I could figure out a way to get him medical help—he was so close to death, even when I was with him…"

 _"Luke, the moments you had with him were meant to be your last."_

"I don't understand."

 _"Your heart, it is, hm?"_ Yoda poked a finger at his chest. _"Your pain, we sense."_

"Where is my father?" Luke asked again, his voice pitching higher. "Please, I'll get better, I just want to know where he is!"

Ben closed the gap between them, placing a ghostly hand on his shoulder.

 _"Sit down, my very young friend. Lie down if you can. Can you call for your friends, your sister?"_

"Wh-wha?" Luke's tongue felt thick, the air getting dense around him. Harder to breathe. "Wha'ss goin' on?"

Then, _oh Force, lilies._

The smell of _lilies_ _everywhere._

Luke's eyes met Ben's eyes, his wide and scared, Ben's even. Calming.

His knees gave out.

The darkness had him before he ever hit the ground.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

There were noises that he couldn't place, sounds that grated on him but not enough for him to open his eyes. His body dragged in shallow, agonizing breath after breath.

 _Force,_ the pain from his chest _alone._

He winced again as he heard someone calling in his ear, things that made no sense. One word, over and over. Clearer.

"Luke!"

His eyelids fluttered, sticky with what he didn't think was sleep, but something near that. Unfocused colors conjoined and separated above him.

"Luke, can you hear us?"

The colors became humans, the humans became his friends.

And the scenario tugged at him as familiar, just as ammonia assaulted his nose and memory.

Except this time he couldn't move, and he couldn't breathe well, and the pain went so deep that there was no anger.

Luke choked on his sobs. _"Force,_ make it _stop,_ it _hurts."_

He took a fistful of whoever's clothes were closer and squeezed.

 _Force, Force, Force keep him strong._

* * *

Luke sat quietly, eyes shut, training his brain and lungs to even out, stay "asleep" on every screen around him. The echoes of doctors that circled him speaking in low voices made it difficult. They spoke about him, of things he didn't know. Things people were too afraid to tell him straight out. So he had to stay asleep.

He knew whatever he had done, whatever had happened to him, was awful.

Beyond words.

Yet everyone was trying to explain it.

Epileptic. Seizures. Tonic-clonic.

 _And he didn't want to know._

Up until the moment he woke up, he had wanted details. Force, the way his friends _danced_ around it was frustrating enough, even without holding back information about himself. The doubt that festered in that wound was almost enough to break his resolve of _being fine._

But now? Now he knew he was beyond that act.

It made his stomach clench, his throat go tight.

He opened one eye.

"This is all normal," a doctor said, hands up to placate Han, Leia, and Chewie. "Our team here is already working on compiling data."

Han's face twisted up, finger going right in the doctor's face. "Don't tell us its normal. Tell us you can _fix it."_

The doctor swallowed. "Mr. Skywalker's case is _normal._ That doesn't mean that it is _simple."_

Han was pulled and held back by his best friend. Leia stepped forward.

"More tests then?" she asked.

The doctor nodded. "More tests, studying old tests, comparing past results and current symptoms. Dr. Zha and Quams' testing results showed abnormal, but without a clear cause. Which, proves Zha's theory that Mr. Skywalker's injuries were minor at first, or less severe, at least. And as each seizure progressed, the injures worsened. For example, the fracture in his arm might have only been hairline nearer the initial accident."

"How many seizures has he had?"

"Could be three. Could be far more than that. Could be closer to seven."

The monitor on Luke's left started to speed. Luke barely registered that it was his heartbeat reflected in a dysfunctional symphony. _He had to stay asleep._ He kept his one eye open. Just in case.

 _"Seven?"_ Han said.

"It would explain why Mr. Skywalker is consistently exhausted—seizures during the night."

Chewie howled, protesting his vigilance in the night watch; Han spun in a circle, hands whipping through his frantic-looking hair.

"Listen here, you coward, hide behind your doctor-lingo for as long as you'd like, but until you _fix_ my friend, you can't expect me to just _sit here_ and wait for the next seizure to hit. I…I can't…" Han seemed to shrink in size, melting until he reached Leia's arms. She pulled him in and held him there, swaying.

The Wookiee looked to Luke, barely above reclining in bed.

 _"I can't watch that again, Leia."_ Luke heard Han whisper into his sister's hair.

Chewie mumbled something, motioning toward him. Luke was too sluggish to close his eye before they all looked toward him. The doctor to his left fiddled with something at his side, and he felt a rush of coolness in his veins, making him lightheaded.

Luke blinked heavily, his eyes sliding shut even as he watched his friends realize he was awake, about to protest and coddle. He didn't think it was all bad, then, that he slowly drifted away.

* * *

Luke woke again to Leia's sunny face, her hand over his cast, her face over his broken face.

"How do you feel?"

Luke rolled his shoulders. "Sore. Tired."

Leia smiled brighter. "You should be. That means it's working."

"What's working?"

Luke's vision felt blurry, smeared of sorts, as if someone had taken a brush and dabbed away all the harsh lines around him. His tongue pushed against his teeth, his breath sour. Luke couldn't remember the last time he had eaten, but either way he felt nausea creeping and churning in his stomach, making it hard to swallow.

"The pain reliever."

Luke rolled his shoulders again, feeling the weight of his now heavier hand—the small bandages that use to wrap it were now replaced with a full-onset plaster cast—and the pull of the stitches up his side and neck. He knew what pain reliever felt like. The side effects were not even close to what he was feeling.

 _Reach inside yourself,_ he felt Obi-Wan prod in his mind. _Find out._

"Anything else?" Luke croaked.

"Hm?"

"Did they give me anything else?"

Leia fiddled with his gown sleeve, softening its creases with her slender fingers. She was thinking, he could tell, about how much to tell him. "It might be the anti-seizure medication Dr. Zha gave you. That your feeling, that is."

Luke stifled a sob he didn't know was brewing. So it was true then, what he thought he had dreamed. Three seizures—maybe seven, maybe more. That each seizure his injuries got worse, each bruise settling deeper and his bones splitting farther, stitches pulling weaker.

"I'm…I'm really sick then, aren't I Leia?" Luke said, biting down on his wobbling lip. "Tell me the truth."

She opened her mouth, then closed it. "You heard what those doctors said today, didn't you? I think then…I think you know the truth."

Luke thought he did too. But he didn't want to believe it.

"I saw Ben. That last time… I saw him in the forest. He was right in front of me, telling me something. I-I can't remember what, but…"

Leia placed her hands over her eyes, pressing. He could hear her exhale slowly. "I knew it. I knew you were closer than they were telling me."

Luke frowned.

"You saw Ben. Does that mean you…you…" Leia let her sentence hang.

 _You died?_

He could hear it, that unsaid word.

"No, no! No, it was before. Before everything, before the s-seizure—" _Force that felt awful on his tongue—"—_ he was here. Right in front of me. Like…a Force ghost. I've seen them before."

"You've seen them before," Leia repeated, voice strained.

"You think I'm crazy."

"I think you're sick, Luke. And that your medication is talking."

" _I'm_ talking. He was…no, _they_ were proud of me. They told me that…" He grimaced, trying to remember their words. _Ben, and Yoda…they said…_

Leia stood. "I was supposed to tell Dr. Zha when you woke up."

She left, wiping her eyes. Luke followed her movements, as she dimmed the lights and closed the door. If his head wasn't so clogged he would be able to tell what she was thinking.

She didn't believe him. He knew she didn't. It broke him apart.

The door swung open again, this time with a small nurse holding an array of bottles and a tray of food.

"Mr. Skywalker," she said curtly. "It about time you eat something. Does anything sound good?" She motioned to the plain broth, the thin slices of bread, and _for Force's sake_ green gelatin.

"I'm not sure I can eat anything just yet." _Just looking at the food made his stomach drop._ "Thank you, though."

She frowned. "You'll have to eat something before you take your allotted evening dosages. Two for inflammation, one for pain relief, and one carbamazepine. All _with_ food."

Luke swallowed whatever was creeping up his throat. "Right. Okay."

The nurse pulled up the side table, setting the tray and the pills down neatly. "I'll tell your friends the same thing in case you fall back asleep or forget. There's no shame in that."

Luke nodded, tried for a smile. His face felt cramped, and he remembered his fractured eye socket and jaw. He wondered if his whole face was purple at this point.

The door closed before he registered the nurse leaving, and was opening again to let Han in.

"Hey, hotshot," Han said softly.

"Hi, Han."

Han lingered, looking at Luke's face for a long moment before he sat heavily next to the food and the medications, which he wrinkled his nose at.

"I've gotta eat this somehow," Luke said helplessly, poking the green goo at watching his reflection ripple.

"We've done harder things, right?"

 _We._ Han had developed the habit of saying _we_ some time during their flight out from Jabba's Palace. Luke didn't mind—a pity his name didn't fit all that well anymore though.

"Yeah, I guess so." Luke picked up the spoon, dipping it experimentally in the broth that still was rimmed with steam.

"'Atta boy."

Han talked as Luke struggled to sip—about how drunk the fighter pilots got, about the Ewoks and C-3PO, of Lando being Lando and starting a questionable game of cards half way through the festivities.

Luke pushed the bowl away after the twelfth or so story. Han looked worried.

"Hey, kiddo, you've got to—"

"I can't."

Han seemed about to argue but took it back, placed the bowl to the side and gave Luke's shoulder a squeeze. "You did good, Luke. Proud 'a you."

 _We could not be more proud._

Luke gave a thumbs up as the bowl was replaced with a cup of water. He picked up the little, white, round pill and frowned. Carbamazepine. Anti-seizure medication. _So very, very sick._ _The medication talking._

Han nudged his hand. "Just get it over with, buddy."

Luke swallowed it, feeling its painful trail all the way down.

Then the second, third, fourth.

"Not too bad, hotshot," Han joked. "Of course, I've had more years of practice, but not bad."

Luke gave him a shove, his hard casted thumping against Han's collarbone. His smile didn't hurt any less, but it felt more real.

"When's the last time you went home, Han?" Luke asked once Han had stopped laughing. "C'mon, don't tell me you've just hung around Mon Motha's for the last two weeks."

Han waved away Luke's concern. "I've showered if that's what you're asking. You try smelling pretty when you hang around a Wookiee all day."

"You know what I mean." Luke looked him sincerely in the eye. "Get some sleep, Han. I know you need some. Bring Leia with you."

"What're you hinting at, you?" A wink. Luke smiled again.

"I just mean I'll be fine here for a night. Chewie needs sleep, you need sleep, Leia needs sleep. R2 can stay if that makes you feel better. Just…I don't want you all running yourself to the ground because of my…" _That word, seizures._ "…me."

Han pointed a finger directly at his nose. "Listen here. We're here because we want to be. Not because we have to be or feel guilty about it. With all that we've been through together…heh." Han cleared his throat. Luke didn't fail to notice the 'we' again. "We're gonna get through this. Together. One day at a time, hotshot."

"I know. One day at a time. Just… take the nights off?"

"Don't do those Jedi mind tricks on me."

But Luke knew he had gotten to him.

"We'll be back tomorrow morning, okay? Don't do anything stupid and make a nurse call us if you need us. And if you change or mind, or if Leia chews me out, we're coming back and never leaving again, okay?" Han said as he pulled on his jacket. Luke nodded.

"I'll be fine. Don't worry about me _. Sleep_."

"Maybe." Another wink. Luke rolled his eyes.

"She's my sister. And I don't want to know."

Han gave a salute before trudging down the hallway.

Luke took two deep breaths. Then, shakily, Luke pulled himself up and out of bed, dragging his heavy braced foot. The room instantly froze around him, seeping into his bones.

The 'fresher wasn't any warmer, as he dropped to his knees on the tile, pulled himself up to the toilet and vomited broth and stomach acid.

No alarms went off. Luke had made sure of that.

Alone, shivering, with a heart rhythm like an undisciplined firing squad.

Working through the side effects of trying to be normal again.


End file.
